


off on a hero's journey

by AugustaByron



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anachronistic, Dragons, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Knights - Freeform, M/M, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 07:10:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6601606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bitty is an unlikely witch with a talent for making pies appear. Jack is a grumpy knight. Shitty would just like to complete his princely quest and rescue his best bro, the princess. And what's this about dragons?</p>
            </blockquote>





	off on a hero's journey

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from Galavant, because this is basically the fault of Galavant. I have nothing more to say for myself.

“Are you sure this is the right place? You're not always great at interpreting the prophecy.”

Shitty is injured. That is an injurious statement, right there. And he would tell Jack as much, if he weren't having some doubts himself.

“I'm about half sure,” Shitty admits. Jack turns his incredulous gaze away from the—bakery?--and to Shitty. “Maybe she's just a witch on her off hours, brah. Who's to say?”

Jack is skeptical. Shitty can tell, see, because they have been on this quest for fucking ever, and even though Jack is totally aces, best knight in the realm, he is not what one would call an optimist. Shitty can kind of sympathize right now.

The prophecy said to seek the witch where the twisted oaks meet. Any local inquiries, however, have led them to this bustling city street, instead of like, a riverbank covered in moss. Shitty was kind of expecting more crows and ominous clouds for the promised witch.

Twisted Oaks Breads and Sweets, however, is a bright and clean storefront, with wide glass windows displaying pies. Which, dude. Shitty could totally nosh down on some pie right about now. The scents wafting through the bakery's open door are fucking tantalizing.

“Might as well go in,” Jack decides. “We can at least get some bread for the road.”

“We are getting pie,” Shitty decides, and they go in.

The store is empty, except for the short blond guy behind the counter. He's arranging small pastries on a tray, but he looks up when Shitty and Jack enter.

“Oh! Hello!” the guy says. “I haven't seen ya'll before. Travelers?”

Jack stiffens beside Shitty, always looking for treachery, but Shitty just grins. “Did you guess from the dirty cloaks?”

“And the horses outside,” the guy admits. “I'm Eric Bittle. People call me Bitty. Welcome to my shop.”

“We're looking for a witch,” Jack says, gruff, before Shitty can introduce the pair of them. “Do you know where she is?”

Bitty blushes bright red and stammers, “Oh! Well, uh. That'd be me, I suppose.”

Jack looks Bitty up and down. “But you're a man,” he observes.

“Don't judge, dude,” Shitty says, smacking his knight upside the head. “Gender roles are so Fourteenth Century.”

 

Bitty is bemused by the whole situation.

“So you're Prince B--”

Shitty cuts him off. “Just Shitty, dude. We're going to be bros, so I can't be having with that title bullshit. Royalty is totally bogus anyway, I'm instituting a republic as soon as I inherit the throne.” Which is probably why dear old dad keeps refusing to abdicate.

“Shitty,” Bitty repeats, slowly, like he's testing it out. “And you're Sir Zimmermann.”

“Jack,” Jack says. He's stationed by the windows, glaring suspiciously at passersby.

“And you think I'm the witch from your prophecy.”

“That's right.” Shitty cuts himself another piece of pie. He's going to hire Bitty as the royal baker if this whole quest thing doesn't end in tragedy. Or maybe he'll just move into this city to study law. It seems like a nice place.

“And you want me to come with you to rescue a princess.”

“Princess Larissa,” Shitty specifies. “We've been betrothed since we were born. Maybe before. The contract isn't the most clear.”

Plus, Larissa's his best friend. They've been exchanging regular letters since they learned to read. It's not their fault they're just also supposed to get married without ever actually meeting in person. When she got kidnapped by a dragon, what was Shitty supposed to do? Not go get her?

It's just that Shitty and Jack, while daring and courageous, aren't actually very good at quests. So they found a seer and she told them they needed a witch to succeed, and then charged them an obscene amount of money and kicked them out of her caravan.

“Oh, my,” Bitty says faintly. “Well, I suppose if it's to rescue someone. But I don't understand why it should be me. I'm not a very good witch. I mostly just, you know, sometimes pies appear? Or I use a spell to keep the bread warm.”

“The prophecy said to meet a witch at the twisted oaks,” Jack says from his post by the windows. He turns to Bitty, intense mode fully engaged. “If you don't come, we won't succeed.”

“And that would be a total bummer,” Shitty agrees.

“Well,” Bitty says, squaring his shoulders. His chin comes up, jutting out. Shitty has a really good feeling about this little dude, not even including the pies. “I just need to get someone to watch my store. Let me get the frogs.”

He marches off, out of the bakery. Shitty and Jack linger, confused.

“Do you think he means real frogs?” Jack asks. “Like he turned people into them?”

“Nah. Who'd get a real frog to watch a store?”

 

They used to be frogs. Well, they used to be human, and then they used to be frogs. Bitty laughs, a little nervously, and offers, “They didn't seem to like it too much? So I turned them back.”

The former frogs, now humans—again humans? Shitty's not sure of the etiquette—are three large dudes. One is startlingly friendly, one has about a thousand freckles, and one--

“Dude. Nursey?”

“Oh, hey, Shits,” Derek Nurse says, waving. “What's up?”

“I thought you were dead, man,” Shitty says to the eldest son of his father's chief advisor. “You got turned into a frog?”

“For a minute, yeah. Bits turned me back. We kind of hang out now.” Nursey shrugs, easy. “Don't tell my folks, cool? I don't really feel like being a duke.”

“You're a fucking duke, Nurse?” the ginger guy demands. “What the hell? Is that why you can't get a job?”

“Why would I get a job when you're supporting me in the manner to which I am accustomed, Dex? You know, eating bugs.”

Shitty steps out of the way while Dex moves to pummel Nursey, and decides to go check on Bitty. He's currently lecturing the other frog about deliveries.

“And you need to check the flour because the last time they tried to short us,” Bitty fusses. “Are you sure you don't want to write this down, Chowder?”

“I'm sure he's got it, Bittle,” Jack says. He's looming over Bitty's shoulder like the world's most awkward shadow. Shitty represses a grin. Jack's the most obvious when he's got a crush.

Chowder nods furiously. “I do, I promise! We won't let you down!”

“Aw, Chowder. I know you won't.” Bitty reaches up to pat Chowder's cheek, and Jack practically growls. “Now, I have to go with Prince Shitty and Sir Jack.”

“Wait a second,” Dex says, from where he has Nursey in a headlock on the floor. Nursey doesn't look like he's trying too hard to get out of it. “Sir Jack? Like Jack Zimmermann? From the songs?”

“Oh my gosh,” Chowder breathes, “I can't believe Sir Jack Zimmermann is standing in my friend's bakery!”

 

They get started on their way, the frogs waving goodbye from the doorway of the Twisted Oaks.

“So are you really the Sir Jack from the ballads?” Bitty asks tentatively, a few miles out of the city. He's riding a sweet brown mare, nowhere near as large or fast as Shitty or Jack's geldings.

(“Betsy'll do just fine,” Bitty said, when Shitty offered to buy him a younger horse for the journey. “She's reliable.”

“Your horse is really named Betsy?” Jack asked, from astride Falconer. Shitty and his horse, Faber, wisely chose to trot ahead and avoid the collision.)

“Yes,” Jack says. Then nothing. He glares at the road over Falconer's head.

“Oh, wow! So you know Sir Kent?” Bitty asks.

“Yes,” Jack growls, and Bitty wisely drops the subject. Even Shitty doesn't know the whole story there. There are a bunch of heroic ballads about the deeds of the wandering knights Jack and Kent, but then there was some drama with a magic goblet, and the last Shitty heard, Kent took a job as king's champion in a kingdom to the southwest.

Jack doesn't really like to talk about it.

After a couple minutes of silence, Bitty pipes up, “So, where exactly is the princess?”

“In a tower,” Shitty says. “She's locked up. There's a dragon.”

“Where's the tower?” Bitty asks eagerly. “Wait a minute. Did you say a dragon?”

“We don't know where the tower is.” Jack deigns to look over at Bitty, and then whips his head back around. Shitty does smile, then. Seriously, Jack with a crush is hilarious.

“Did you, um, ask?” Bitty ventures. At Jack's blank stare, he hastens to add, “Not that I think you wouldn't ask directions!”

Shitty considers for a moment. “Brah,” he says. “Did you ask anyone where the tower is?”

Jack's grumpy silence is answer enough. Shitty laughs.

“Well, fuck, dude. You're already helping the quest,” he tells Bitty. “Want to stop at the next farmhouse?”

 

There is a dragon-guarded tower two days west of the next farmhouse.

“How do you know it's got a dragon?” Jack asks from between gritted teeth. Shitty tries to look princely instead of doing what he wants, which is to dance around in circles. Because they're going to rescue Larissa! And he'll finally get to meet her in person, which is 'swawesome.

“I pay a tax in sheep,” Farmer Johnson says, looking at Jack like he's an idiot. “Besides, I'm just a narrative device to aid in your adventures. Get off my land.”

“Was it just me, or was that man a little, well, strange?” Bitty asks when they're on the road again.

“Ours is not to question why,” Shitty says. “Brah, just be glad. We're almost done! And when we get back to the castle, there will be _baths_.”

“Oh, Lord,” Bitty says. “I forgot about hygiene. How did I forget about hygiene?”

 

In the next two days, Shitty witnesses the following:

Bitty's eyes completely glazing over when Jack hauls firewood, changes his shirt, or pours a bucket of water over himself to wash off the day's sweat.

To be fair, the last one seems a little gratuitous. The stream is right there. Jack could have just gone for a dip like Shitty.

He also witnesses Jack laugh out loud three times when Bitty says something slyly funny or overtly sweet. That's probably more than Jack's laughed in the last two months of the quest put together.

Shitty's just saying. He's definitely got to think of a way to keep Bitty forever.

 

There are _two_ dragons.

“I was promised one,” Shitty says. “Brah, false advertising.”

“We can do this,” Jack says grimly, drawing his sword. The lighter dragon stirs from its nap, while the darker dragon just flicks its tail sleepily. “Aim for the belly.”

The lighter dragon rumbles, truly waking and stretching to its full length. Golden wings unfurl from its back. Shitty steels himself. This is for Larissa.

“Bro. What is that smell?” the lighter dragon asks. The darker dragon wakes up, too, and audibly sniffs the air.

“That smells fucking great,” the darker dragon agrees.

“Uh,” Bitty says. He's behind Jack. Shitty is actually pretty sure that Jack stepped in front of Bitty. “I think it's blueberry crumble?”

“Dude,” the dragons say as one. The lighter one takes two steps forward, and is suddenly much closer than Shitty wants. It snakes its neck forward. Bitty gulps and steps out from behind Jack.

Jack makes an aborted movement towards Bitty, Shitty thinks to grab him and hide him forever, but Bitty just reaches above his head and offers the pie to the dragon. It sticks out a long pink tongue and slurps up the pie in one bite.

“Oh my god,” the lighter dragon says. “That is fucking incredible. Rans! Get over here.”

The darker dragon joins the lighter one. Shitty watches Bitty's hands sparkle, and then another pie appears.

“Well, he did say that's what he was good at,” Shitty tells Jack, who is gaping silently.

“Honey peach,” Bitty decides, and tosses the pie to the darker dragon. It catches the pie in its mouth and munches happily.

“Dude,” the darker dragon says. “That is excellent. Who are you guys? Why does the angry one have a sword? Uncool, dude.”

“We're, um, here for the princess?” Bitty says. “He'll put his sword away if you promise not to eat us.”

“Why would we eat you?” the lighter dragon asks. “Unless you taste like that pie, in which case, watch out. What are your names?”

Bitty looks at Jack, then at Shitty. Shitty shakes his head. If Bitty is going to make friends with the dragons, Shitty is going to stand the fuck back and let him do his thing.

“I'm Bitty, this is Jack, and this is Shitty,” Bitty says, pointing to each of them in turn. At Shitty's name, the dragons perk up.

“Oh! Dude, about time,” the darker one says. “Lardo wrote that letter like two months ago.”

“Letter?” Shitty says. “Lardo?”

“Ha ha, dude, you've got some groveling to do, you're so fucking late,” the darker dragon says. He jerks his tail towards the tower. “Go on up, door's unlocked.”

 

After about a thousand stairs, they reach the chamber at the top of the tower. There's a girl in there, draped over a chair and reading a book. She's got short dark hair and sharp brown eyes, and Shitty's heart goes fucking pitter patter, he swears.

“Dude,” the girl says. She sticks a bookmark in her book and sets it aside. “About fucking time. What's with the entourage?”

“Larissa?” Shitty asks, but he knows. The girl raises her eyebrows at him.

“Lardo,” she corrects. “Holster and Ransom are into nicknames.”

“Holster and Ransom,” Jack repeats flatly. The lighter dragon obligingly sticks his head through the tower window.

“Hey, dudes,” he says. “Holster here. Ransom wants to know if there's any more of that pie.”

“Oh! Sure,” Bitty says. He goes over to the window and starts handing out pie after pie, hands sparkling gold the whole time. Jack watches him do it, jaw dropped. Shitty elbows him, and Jack snaps his mouth shut.

“Lardo.” It suits her. Shitty's already rewriting everything he knows about Larissa from hundreds of letters, into this tiny woman with the quick smirk. She stands up out of her chair and saunters over to him.

“Shits,” Lardo says back, and takes his hands. “You're really bad at quests, aren't you?”

“Yeah, dude,” Shitty admits. He can't look away from her. Before it was just this thing that was going to happen, marrying Lardo, and he was pretty okay with it. They were buds. Now, though, it's like his whole universe is rewriting itself into the hand holding his.

“That's okay,” Lardo says. “I'll handle that sort of thing.”

She leans in to kiss him, and Shitty's so fucking happy he could burst.

 

It turns out that Lardo's been free to leave the whole time, and hung out in the tower for the library.

“There's a bunch of awesome books,” she explains. “I sent you a letter so you wouldn't worry. And invited you to hang out. You'll like Ransom and Holster, they're cool.”

Shitty's good with that. They can hang out here for a while, and then maybe go back and get married, or not. He's basically going to do what Lardo says from now on, clearly he has been lacking this kind of direction in his life so far.

Plus Jack and Bitty snuck away while Shitty and Lardo were making out, so he's pretty sure he doesn't want to share a campsite with them right now. There is not a lot of privacy on the road, and Shitty's fucking certain that Jack is going to take his shirt off and pour more water on himself at some point. There are things a man doesn't need to see his best friend do, and watching Jack attempt to woo a witch is firmly in that category.

Lardo grabs Shitty's hand. He could get used to that.

“Do you want to see some landscapes I've been working on? The views from up here are incredible.”

“Lead the way,” Shitty says. He's content to follow.

His questing days are over.

 


End file.
